


Carrying on.

by silver_sun



Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Peninsular War, Soldiers, set about 1810/1811
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_sun/pseuds/silver_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompt: How far can you carry it?</p><p>Sharpe and Harper disagree about who should carry the bag they've taken from a French dispatch rider.  </p><p>I've listed it as gen fic, although it could be said to have a little of Harper liking Sharpe a bit more than friends, it could just as easily be seen as friendship with a little bit of hero worship thrown in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying on.

“How far can you carry it?” Sergeant Harper asked as he looked at the saddle bag, lately stolen from a group of now mostly deceased French dispatch riders. When his captain, over whose shoulder the bag was now hung, didn’t answer, he prompted, “Really now, is it not a wee bit heavy, sir?”

“I’ll carry it as far as I damn well have too so I can sling it at Hogan and be done with this whole bloody mess,” Sharpe replied irritably. He tested his leg, leaning more weight on it and grimaced. It hurt, but he’d manage, he always did. At least this time it was just bruising; he’d had enough cuts and shots to that damn leg through the years to leave it aching when the weather was cold and damp.

"Just let me take it for a bit, sir,” Harper persisted. He had knew how stubborn Sharpe was, how he could push himself until he was too damn sick or exhausted to stand and still be arguing the whole time that he was fine. Harper was having none of it. He’d told the other chosen men that he’d look after him and that was what he’d do.

“I said, no.” Sharpe glared at him and tried not to look like he was avoiding putting weight on his leg. “Anyway, what about your shoulder?”

“It were no more than a scratch,” Harper said, his easy going Irish lilt taking some of the tension away. “I don’t see it as being much trouble. On account of me not walking on my hands, sir.”

It drew a grin from Sharpe despite their situation. “Don’t be daft, Pat. You’ll set it bleeding again.”

“It nicked past me, like a little fly so it was.” He held out his hand for the saddle bag. “If it gets too heavy you can always have it back. It’s a good plan, sir. Better than you taking it, as if your leg goes then I’d have to be carrying you and all, so I would,” Harper said undeterred by Sharpe scowling at him. “And I’m not sure I could, not all the way back to Casa Alto. It’s a very along way, sir.”

“If I can’t walk you’re to bloody well leave me and get this to Major Hogan yourself, and that’s an order,” Sharpe said, taking the saddle bag and shoving it towards Harper. He’d known he’d lose the argument the moment Harper had asked him for it, but somehow now he had he didn’t mind. Pat looked out for him on and off the battlefield, he looked after him when he needed it and even when he didn’t, and perhaps most importantly he had done it on all those times where he’d not known he’d needed it, but really had. Pat didn’t do it to seek reward or favour, Sharpe was sure of that, it was how he was and it confused Sharpe when he thought of it like that. He didn’t like to be confused, but he was equally certain he’d never be able to figure Pat out, so he’d long since decided to not think about it at all. Right now were more pressing matters at hand, and he said, “Come on then or the Frogs’ll be catching us up.”

“You know I couldn’t be doing that,” Harper said as looked for the best route down the rocky slope. “It wouldn’t be right leaving my officer behind. Very serious offence that.”

“Since when have you respected the chain of command, Pat?” Sharpe said, taking the lead and limping down the slope. “Only when it bloody pleases you, that when. You weren’t so keen when I….” Loose stones shifted under his feet and he slipped. His knee gave out with the jarring movement and he sat down hard, swearing and holding his knee.

“Ah well now, it’s only special officers, so it is,” Harper said, giving him a moment before holding out a hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Me? Special?” Sharpe gave a snort of laughter. “That’s one bloody word for it, not one I’d use.”

Harper watched him start to limp down the slope again, before saying mostly to himself, “You are to me, sir. You really are.” Then with one last look around, he followed Sharpe into the rocky hills along Spanish-Portuguese border.

 

A/N  
this is the first time that I've written in this fandom (although I've been a fan of both TV series and books for about 20 years) and although I'm busy with other things, I hope that it won't be the last.


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